


Hens do as well, and maybe they should.

by FallingFaintly



Series: Do we? Of course we do. [2]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Drunk female banter, F/M, Flirting, Friendship, Idiots in Love, More than a shot-glass Strike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29154783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingFaintly/pseuds/FallingFaintly
Summary: Robin goes to Vanessa's hen party. She has an exceptionally good time.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Series: Do we? Of course we do. [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2154387
Comments: 14
Kudos: 65





	Hens do as well, and maybe they should.

**Author's Note:**

> A follow-up to 'Stags do, but they probably shouldn't' because it was all rather too much fun. Not necessary to have read that first, but it is a continuation.

It was a pleasantly social evening. Robin noticed Vanessa enter the pub and raised a hand to catch her attention. Strike and Wardle were engaged in an animated discussion about how best to handle groups of drunken lads, and while Robin was amused by the badinage, she welcomed the added female presence amongst the wafts of testosterone.

“My old dad would’ve said you bang their heads together, but that’s not the done thing these days,” Wardle said.

“Well,” Strike drew the word out a little, and Wardle grinned. “Honestly, most pissed blokes only get lairy if they sense aggravation. If you keep it light, they usually simmer down.”

Robin had very little experience of marshalling large groups of drunken men, so she felt ill-equipped to offer her thoughts, which were essentially that, as a woman, she steered well clear from those groups when she came across them.

Vanessa bent down briefly, putting her hand on Robin’s shoulder and her cheek against Robin’s in greeting.

“All right?” She asked.

“Yeah, all set for tomorrow?” Robin asked.

Vanessa flashed an enthusiastic smile.

“Absolutely! Best bit about doing all this is the partying!” 

The following evening was Vanessa Ekwensi’s hen party, and Robin had to agree that the idea of a night out with other women was very exciting. She hadn’t really done it since her uni days. For years if she had ventured forth, it was with her ex-husband, and she was looking forward to being in the distinct energy of a group of women determined to have fun.

“- and I swear to god, he insisted all he was doing was dealing with a sudden dizzy spell. I was like, mate, you don’t put your head between someone else’s knees when you’re dizzy!” Wardle rounded off his tale and Strike responded with a huge and hearty laugh.

“Stag do’s are the worst, though. Gang warfare is easier to control than lads determined to get shit-faced and get the groom laid or at least naked and chained to a lamp-post.” Wardle continued, picking up his pint.

“Last stag I went to, we got kicked out of one of the pubs,” Strike said dryly, pausing after his statement, knowing how to secure attention for a tale.

Robin succumbed to the rhetorical trick, and both Vanessa and Wardle were amused and intrigued.

“What did you do?” Robin asked, knowing exactly when the last stag do was, and how appallingly hung over he had been on his return. She recalled him storming out angrily and only returning a few hours later, bringing with him a sandwich and a chocolate bar for her as a peace offering and seeming grateful she let him recuperate without much more interaction. But he had opened the door to her curiosity now.

“ _ I _ didn’t do anything,” he said, though a small smile played round his mouth. “One of the other blokes decided to get his knob out and stick it in an empty glass.”

Wardle threw his head back laughing, as men only do when there’s a mention of the ridiculous things they sometimes did with their dicks.

“What did he do that for?” He asked, as though it was plausible there would be a sensible reason.

“He was measuring it. He wanted to prove it could hit the bottom of the glass,” Strike told them, laughing.

“And you all got thrown out? Why not just him?” Robin asked, aware, by virtue of having three brothers, of how amusing men found their penises.

“There may have been an element of competition suggested.” Strike said, taking a large mouthful of Doom Bar to give his companions time to react to the implications.

Vanessa was grinning and rolling her eyes. Wardle was delighted.

“So you just didn’t get a chance to do anything? Did he hit it?” He said, clutching his sides a little and scraping away an escaping tear.

“He did not. The rest of us won by default, but I was feeling pretty confident anyway,” Strike replied, enjoying Wardle’s reaction, and maintaining an air of laid-back pleasure that his tale had hit the mark with the DI.

Robin registered the subtle boast and felt a sudden flush at the sides of her face. She cast a glance over at Vanessa, who twitched up the corner of both mouth and eyebrow and at her.

“Well, that’s men for you, always comparing,” she said, “Women in a group band together.”

Robin appreciated the sentiment, and the slight change of direction.

“Oh yeah, you’re off out tomorrow on the razz,” Wardle replied. 

“I’m sure you’ll be the soul of decorum,” Strike added, in a tone that indicated he was sure they wouldn’t be.

“We’ll probably manage to leave the establishments voluntarily, at least,” Vanessa said, and Robin was buoyed by her confidence.

“Yeah, I think we can manage to behave well enough to avoid getting barred from anywhere,” Robin agreed.

“Then you’re missing the point of a hen do, aren’t you?” Strike asked, looking at Robin, which unsettled her a little once more. 

“Yeah, it’s Vanessa’s last night out as a free woman. The whole point is to go a bit mad.” Wardle nodded.

“Who said we’re not?” Vanessa countered. “You don’t have to get kicked out to have had a damned good time.”

“Well, Robin said she was going to behave well,” Wardle submitted. “You can’t have a good time on a hen or a stag and ‘behave’.”

“I think Robin is just too polite and doesn’t want to shock you. I’m quite sure she is fully prepared to misbehave,” Vanessa insisted, and Robin appreciated the backing and sense of sisterly camaraderie.

She looked at Strike, who glanced at her with an expression she couldn’t read, but was then distracted by Wardle saying to her “Mind yourself, Robin. I’m on duty tomorrow night, I don’t want to get a call out because you’ve started a riot.”

  
  


Robin was buzzing with anticipation once they got into the club. She was already two drinks in, and entering the pulsing atmosphere of rhythm and revelry energized her still further. She was delighted with her outfit choice. The pleather trousers she had teamed with a strappy black top, covered in silver glitter, gave her a sense of rock chick confidence, which she had set off by being a little heavier with her eyeliner and putting messy curls in her loose hair.

“You look  _ amazing _ !” Vanessa had said when they met earlier.

The group of women had brought along a Bride-to-be sash for Vanessa to wear over her dress, which was short and clinging round her hips, but batwing in shape and falling off her right shoulder further up.

“You too!” Robin had replied.

“Yeah, but mine has no purpose because I’m as good as taken now. You have your pick of the city,” Vanessa said, and Robin had glowed with the pleasure of her friend’s encouragement.

Sometime later, amid the coloured swivelling spotlights on the dance floor, the assembled hens had been letting their hair down with quite some enthusiasm, and Robin took a breather from the energetic and raucous fun, nipping to the toilets to relieve herself. Vanessa stood beside her at the sinks as she washed her hands, wiping away some smudged eyeliner at the corner of her almond eyes. Robin checked out her own reflection. She was flushed with both the activity and the alcohol, but she was satisfied that the rock chick demeanour wasn’t ill-suited to these developments.

“Having a good time?” Vanessa asked.

“Having a great time,” Robin replied. “Though I haven’t started any riots yet.”

Vanessa smirked.

“The night is young. Besides, if Strike can get himself kicked out of a pub, you at least need to top that,” she said.

“I thought we weren’t competitive,” Robin laughed.

“Not with each other,” Vanessa clarified. “But with the blokes? Hell yeah, we are!”

“I’m not sure I want to top getting kicked out for the reason he did!” Robin chuckled.

“Well, he didn’t actually do it, did he? His mate did. He’s all talk,” Vanessa replied. “All you’ve got to do is follow through and you win.”

Robin was hugely amused, and her mood was loose enough to dwell on the things she was a little too flustered to think about the night before.

“D’you think he would have done it if they hadn’t been stopped?” Robin asked.

Vanessa looked at Robin, and her eyes seemed to spark into recognition.

“Probably,” she said. “The question is, do you think he would have hit the bottom of the glass?”

Robin giggled. She was feeling exceptionally daring.

“Probably,” she said, and after a beat they both dissolved into raucous laughter.

“I wonder how big the glass was?” Vanessa said through her giggles.

“Well he’s not going to feel smug about his chances with a shot glass, is he?” Robin replied, and the beginnings of a stitch started in her side.

“Maybe you’re the one who should feel smug, lady,” Vanessa said. “I’m pretty sure it’s bigger than a half.”

Robin was still laughing, and then slowed slightly.

“Wait,” she said, catching up. “Why would  _ I _ feel smug?”

Vanessa continued to chuckle.

“Right, Robin. Shall we play let’s pretend you don’t fancy Strike? We both know you do.”

Robin was far too gone to make much of an attempt to deflect, and actually the daring feeling caused a smile to rise up that she couldn’t suppress.

“Tell you what,” Vanessa continued. “When you get the intel, you can let me know if we should call him ‘shot-glass Strike’, cos I’m not the one likely to find out.”

“I have no idea how I would get that information!” Robin declared.

“Well, you are a detective. Perhaps you could take a few options into the office, have him do a line up!”

They both doubled over again.

“Or, you know, you could shag him,” Vanessa said through tears of laughter.

“I bloody could, you know!” Robin conceded, and it was like the winds of wild female humour had battered down the boundary she kept around those feelings.

“You could! If he saw you dressed like this, he’d be putty in your hands” Vanessa agreed.

“I don’t want him like putty!” Robin wrinkled her nose up in pretend disgust and they fended off another gale of giggles.

“Why don’t you ask him?” Vanessa asked.

“I can’t just ‘ask him’!” Robin exclaimed. “‘Morning Strike, fancy a shag?’”

They both paused briefly and an image of Strike’s face in reaction to such a question crossed both their minds and they guffawed and clutched at each other to try and stay upright.

“Just promise me you’ll text me the minute you get a definitive answer, yeah?” 

“Promise,” Robin replied, and they went back out into the club for another drink.

  
  
  


The next morning Strike texted Robin early.

**Sorry. I know you’re probably sleeping, but we need to rearrange White Van Man.**

Robin had hauled herself up and out of the house. The hangover wasn’t too bad, mainly tiredness and a tightness behind her eyes, and her main feeling was that she was still slightly glowing with the excitement of having so much fun.

She got into the office, as tidy and put together in her appearance as ever. Strike was in the main part of the office, holding a paper document file but peering out of the window. 

“Quiet night, then?” Strike had asked, turning and taking in how she looked.

“Not at  _ all, _ ” she replied, amused by his nonplussed expression that was clearly trying to marry the concept of having a lively night and still looking presentable early the following morning.

“Oh,” he replied. “Vanessa have a good time?” He added after a small pause.

“She did. Some bloke tried to push it too far with one of the other girls, Gemma, and Van pinned him with his arm behind his back and flashed her warrant card to get him thrown out. It was highly entertaining,” Robin replied, putting the kettle on.

Strike seemed impressed.

“‘Course,  _ we _ didn’t get thrown out,” she replied after a short moment, holding his eyes with a confidence she was a little surprised was still bubbling.

He seemed even more impressed, and opened his mouth, searching for a retort. Before he found one, Robin turned back to the kettle.

“But then we kept our clothes on,” she finished, and she was fairly sure he would hear her broad smile in her voice.

She brought his mug of tea.

_ Morning, Strike, fancy a shag? _

Her conversation with Vanessa in the loos reverberated in her mind as he took the mug.

“Cheers,” he said.

_ Oh, just tea then? That’s a shame. _

She pressed her lips together to stifle a giggle.

“What?” He asked, after taking a mouthful.

_ When you’re finished, would you mind doing something for me with that mug? I’ve got to text Vanessa with the answer. _

“Nothing,” Robin replied, the giggle escaping a little.

Strike’s expression was a mix of bafflement and amusement.

“Are you still drunk?” He asked.

Robin thought for a second. If she was it would explain why she wasn’t yet feeling terrible, and also why she still felt confident enough to be flirting. It would also be a very convenient excuse.

“I don’t think so,” she lied. She rather did think so.

Strike let the corner of his mouth curl up. 

“I’m just in a very good mood, it was fun,” Robin continued. 

“When did you get in?” Strike asked, conversationally. Robin’s eyes had trailed from his mouth to where his shirt was unbuttoned, and the copious hair that she knew covered his entire body peeped through.

_ His entire body.  _

She blinked her eyes shut. Excuse it might be, but the sensible part of her brain reminded her that good decisions didn’t need to be excused. When she opened her eyes, she saw Strike had both followed her gaze and registered where she was looking when she shut her eyes, his head bent down towards his own chest. He looked up again, that amusement dancing in his eyes. She realized he had seen her recognition too, and she panicked slightly and dropped her eyes still further, which was a mistake, because she was now looking at his groin.

_ Definitely bigger than a shot glass.  _

“A little before four, I think,” she replied, getting the words out a little too hastily and slurring ‘before’ and ‘four’ into each other.

“I’m sorry?” Strike asked, pretending he hadn’t understood, and she registered that she was still looking at his groin.

“Four!” She said, looking back up at his face. “I got home at around four,” she enunciated carefully.

“Not had much sleep, then?” he asked, taking another drink.

“Not really, no,” she conceded. She had clearly lost her grip somewhere, and needed to retain it, quickly.

“Well, as long as Wardle didn’t have to bang you up for the night,” Strike replied, lightly.

_ It’s not Wardle I want to do any banging.  _

“No, all very civilized in the main,” Robin replied.

“I’m sorry to hear you weren’t misbehaving,” Strike said.

Robin detected the teasing tone and she was far too concerned with managing her own errant thoughts to parry her response into something suitable to move this back onto surer ground.

“I never said I wasn’t,” she said.  _ Because I was, Strike. I was thinking about how big your… _

She coughed, dragging herself into the present and self control.

“Anyway, you called me in here for a reason,” she swerved. 

She blinked away the final treacherous thought as he opened the file in his hand.

_ Wasn’t a shag, by any chance? _


End file.
